


And a Fish for Luck

by scruffandyarn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cutesy shit, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 05:13:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5321768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scruffandyarn/pseuds/scruffandyarn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I’m going off the idea that, being an angel, Michael is kosher (if I messed it up, let me know).  Also, the ‘traditional southern New-Year’s meal’ consists of everything I’ve eaten for New Year’s lunch every year I can remember.  I know it can be a little different for each southern (US) family, but this is what my family does (we’re from Georgia, in case you were wondering)<br/>Happy New Years!!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	And a Fish for Luck

You dropped the grocery bags in your hands and glared at the archangel currently spraying fire-retardant into your stove.

“What the hell, Michael?  I step out to pick up a few things and you’ve damn near burned my kitchen down!”  You could barely see him through the smoke and the spray.

“Oh–hi, ______.” He turned to look at you as soon as the air had cleared, blush creeping up to his cheeks.  “I didn’t hear you come in.  What are you doing here?”

“I live here, Michael.  What are you doing, there?”

“I um…I was trying to bake some cookies.”  

You cocked an eyebrow.  “Cookies?”

“Well, yes.  You said your sister was bringing her children and I thought they might enjoy a treat.”

“Why didn’t you just wait until I got back?” You were trying to hang on to your anger, but his hopeful look was quickly melting your heart.

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”  He reached in and pulled out your baking pan–that was now covered in charred lumps.  “Surprise?”

“Michael, it’s just New Years.  They aren’t expecting us to go all out.”  

This was how it had been for a while now.  Thanksgiving at your parents, as your dad made the most amazing pumpkin cheesecakes anyone had ever tasted; Christmas, being more geared to children, at your sister’s, spoiling her two kids; New Years at your place, laid back and relaxed.

This would be Michael’s first New Year’s lunch with you.

“I know that.  I am sorry about your oven.”  He frowned.  “And your pan.”

“Hey, you know what–I think it’s a great idea.”  He shook his head.  “No, I’m serious.  I think it’s sweet that you thought of my niece and nephew like that.”  You took the fire extinguisher from his hands.  “How about we try again?”  He nodded, one corner of his mouth lifting.  “Then you can help me with everything else.”

**.  
**

“I don’t understand why you think I need this.” Michael stared curiously at the scaling knife you’d just handed him.

“It’s for taking the scales off.” You nodded to the fish that was laying on the cutting board on the counter, one beady little eye staring blankly up.  “You’re also probably going to want gloves.”

“Is this what you went to the market for?”

“Well, yeah.  I know you don’t eat ham, so I figured fish would work just as well for you.”

“I don’t need to eat anything, ______.”

You frowned.  “I know, but…it’s tradition.”  You didn’t know how else to explain it.  You just knew you’d be spending the whole day trying to hide your disappointment if he didn’t want in.  

“You wish for me to partake in your family tradition?”

“Yeah.  Like when we went for Christmas and Thanksgiving.  You’re part of my family, now, and I don’t want you to be left out.”  He smiled before pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.

“You know, I could just take care of this, quite easily.”  He waved his hand over the fish and it was suddenly turned into a completely baked fish, steam still rising from it.

“That’s no good.  If you want the luck from it, you’ve got to prepare it yourself.”  He sighed and snapped his fingers, returning the fish to it’s original scaliness.  

“As an archangel, I do not believe in this thing you call ‘luck.’”  You frowned.  “Would it be better if I said that I do not need luck, for I have you?”  There was a definite twinkle in his eyes.

“Much.” You grinned.  “But you still have to gut the fish.”

“Fine.”

He started working on his fish while you began to rummage around the kitchen, gathering the ingredients for corn bread.  He may be eating fish, but the rest of your family was going to want the traditional southern New Year’s lunch tomorrow–ham, rice, black-eyed peas, stewed tomatoes, collard greens, and corn bread.  You needed to get as much done now, so that tomorrow wouldn’t be such a rush.

“I now understand why people choose to buy fillets that have already been prepared,” he groused.  You looked over to see a very mangled piece of fish sitting at the end of his scaling knife.

“You killed it!”

“______, it was already dead when you brought it home.” He looked at you like you’d lost your mind.

“No, I mean–you were just supposed to take the scales off.  You weren’t supposed to try and take the meat from the bones.”  You stepped over, trying to see if any part of the fish was salvageable.  

“I know it is hard believe, but I have never actually skinned a fish before.”

You couldn’t help it.  You started laughing.  “You don’t skin a fish that has scales.”  The angry look on his face only made you want to laugh harder.  “You know what…” You got your laughter under control after a few moments.  “Maybe it would be best if you just,” you waved your hand around, “did your little magic thing and got your fish done.”

“It is  _not_  magic.”  His anger had faded into a pout.  “It’s grace.  And I am not going to use it to prepare this fish.  I want the luck from it.”

“You know that whole luck thing is just a silly superstition, right?”  You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing again.  His pout deepened.  “Alright.  You salvage as much as you can and put it in a bowl.  We’ll make a casserole or something.”  He was still looking a little grumbly, so you leaned over and kissed his cheek.  “It’ll work out.  Promise.”  Finally, he smiled.

**.  
**

“Mom, Dad, you remember Michael.”  Michael offered his hand to both of your parents.

“Honey, you’ve brought him to every family function for the past six months.  I know we’re old, but we’re not senile,” your mom chastised gently.  Instead of shaking his hand, she wrapped him in a hug.  “How are you doing, dear?”

“As long as I’m not cooking, I seem to be doing well.”  You snorted a laugh.  “Thankfully, I have ______ to supervise me in the kitchen.”

“And I keep the fire extinguisher handy, just in case.”

“I see Michael is about as handy in the kitchen as I am.”  Your mom hugged you after she released Michael.

“You’re going to have to step up your game, young man,” your dad said, shaking Michael’s hand.  “Nothing like the feeling of being able to provide a good meal for your loved ones.”

You frowned at your father.  The ‘L’ word hadn’t been exchanged between you and Michael.  You’d certainly felt it–made sure to show it, and you knew Michael was on the same page as you, but actually saying it–that hadn’t happened.  Leave it to your family to try and push the issue.

“Uncle Mike!”  Your niece and nephew broke tension you’d been feeling as they raced to see who could tackle Michael in a hug first.

“Hey, guys… _Michael_  made something for you.  It’s in the kitchen.  You can each have  _one_  before lunch.”  They squealed and ran towards your kitchen.  You looked over to see that Michael didn’t seem the least bit affected by their misnomer.  But that meant–great–now your sister was going to try and play match-maker too.

“Hey, Mom, Pops.”  Your sister poked her head in through the front door.  “______, how’re you doing, kiddo?”

“Kiddo?  I’m older than you, stupid.”  She’d gotten caught trying to meddle, and she was using this as a diversion tactic.  “And why are you having your children call him ‘uncle’?”

“It’s alright, ______.” Michael smiled warmly.  “I like it.” He paused, that twinkle back in his eyes.  “I feel like it should be my permanent title.”

“And that’s our cue.”  You were grateful that your mom had the presence of mind to herd your dad and sister out of the room.  As it was, your brain had temporarily shut down and you just continued to stare at Michael.

“I think this is where you are supposed to say something,” he prompted.

“You–you want to be their uncle?” You stuttered, mentally slapping yourself for having responded with that.  “I mean–you and me and…”

“Eternity is a long time, ______.  I cannot think of a better way to spend it than with you.”  He took your hands in his before leaning down and kissing you.  “So?”

“I love you.”  He was practically glowing at your admission.  “And if this is your idea of a proposal, then yes.  My answer is yes.”

“I love you, too.”  He kissed you again, lifting your hands to his shoulders before wrapping his own around your waist.  

Maybe the fish was lucky after all.


End file.
